


the space between: i. comfort.

by melodysrefrain



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Regret, Trauma, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23016028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodysrefrain/pseuds/melodysrefrain
Summary: Daisy asks Jon a question while he's reading. Jon does everything he can to answer. A short scene between two moments. Occurs somewhere between TMA 133 and 140.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 7
Kudos: 152
Collections: The Magnus Archives Fanfiction





	the space between: i. comfort.

_the space between._

_\---_

“...What’s it like, Jon?”

“Hm?” Jon looked up. Daisy stared at the ground, a blanket pulled around her shoulders, hunched in her chair, trying to make herself as small as possible. For someone who had been so menacing, so powerful and terrifying in the thrall of the Hunt, it was surprising how exhausted and forlorn she had become. Surprising, but not unexpected.

“What’s it like? You know…”

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t--”

“It’s alright. You can Look.” Her eyes never moved from the spot on the ground, but she drew her blanket around her tighter. The gentle yellow was about the most colour in the room dimly lit as it was, with books, papers, and boxes of tapes piled high around them. Jon’s guilt clawed at his chest as even without wanting to, he could feel the pulling sensation, the indescribable feeling of thought and knowledge, emotion and memory flowing into him from another.

“Daisy no it’s oka-- ah. Ah…” A wash of guilt and fear passed over him. Fear of the self. Fear of what one might do. Guilt over what one has done. The mounting realisation of atrocity after atrocity, and the walls of righteousness caving in to let regret rush in. Images of men with bloodied faces and pleads for forgiveness. Images of children crying with none to comfort them. They all crashed through in an instant to the forefront of Jon’s thoughts before sliding back into the past, leaving a pit of sadness in his stomach. Biting his lip against the sensation, he looked up to offer any sort of commiseration, but what words could possibly help. Still, he had to try. “Daisy--”

“I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do right now, Jon. The last thing I want right now is to be alone and yet no matter where I go I’m hunted by the fear that I will never be free, that this safety-” she scoffed “-as safe as it isn’t, will reject me, back into the arms of the Hunt and then I don’t know wh--”

“Daisy, it’s okay. Really.” Jon cut in, hearing her voice start to waver. Many things he could handle professionally but he’d never been good at consoling the tearful. He cast his gaze downwards as a courtesy to her. Eye contact hurt. “For as long as you are here we will do everything we can to keep you safe, and seeing as you’re employed here-”

“Not formally. I just signed the papers in the hope it would help.”

“And you haven’t been ejected from here since doing so. If Elias wanted you gone he would have made it so by now, I’m sure. But you’re still here.” He smiled wanly towards his half-read statement. Daisy sighed to her knees.

“Yeah. Still here…”

The second’s silence felt like an age between them.

“I don’t want to be alone” She sounded so scared.

“And you don’t have to be Daisy, we’re all here for you.” He did his best to sound comforting.

“Basira isn’t talking to-”

“Basira’s way of coping is to throw herself into uh, i-investigation, and that’s not something you can really contro--” Another wave of emotion flowed into him, fear of loss, of companionship desolated by the thousand choices we make, and the thousand times we could have avoided them. The fear of being hated, of being someone - something - worth hating, being preyed on by anxiety and the people you used to trust, who having seen you for who you are reject you and hunt you to make sure you can’t hurt anyone else. The loss, the loneliness. The will to fight it slipping ever further away.

“Basira was the only person I had that understood me. That I could talk to, and now, after everything I’ve do-”

“If Basira was going to walk away from you and all of this, she would have done so by now.”

“Would she? What if I’ve just been, I dunno, gaslighting her into staying or-”

“Daisy, look at me.” The lightest compulsion, the gentlest he could manage, to get her to look up, to avoid this spiral of thought and confusion and sadness. Her eyes snapped up to his and there was just misery. “Daisy. What do you need most right now?”

“...a hug.”

It was the simplest of words. The pang of melancholy. The eyes which turned from distant to pleading. Jon’s breath caught in his chest. He hadn’t expected that.

“...a hug?

“...please.”

“Ah… W-well uh.” Jon ran a his hand through loose hairs, pushing them out of his face and sitting back in his chair. He wasn’t good at human contact. Not that he didn’t want to be. Closeness could be good, closeness could be important. Closeness that he had spent time thinking about, idly, when nobody was Watching. The feelings in those quiet moments between flicking the switch on the kettle and it finishing boiling. Between the door knocking and the door swinging open. Between the smile and him looking away. “Well.”

“Sorry I know it’s stupid-”

“No, nono! Not stupid at all. Just… heh.” He looked down at his hands, scarred and pockmarked. But still his. Still able to touch and to feel and to press. Still able to lace his fingers together under the table and squeeze ever so gently to remind himself that things are okay. That he is okay. That the loneliness wouldn’t last forever. “I just… haven’t hugged anyone in a long time.”

“...me neither.” A foreign memory rose unbidden into Jon’s mind as he closed his eyes against it. A child looking up at a much taller figure. A hand ruffling the hair. The strong arms hoisting them up to hold so tightly. Safe and secure. And so long ago. “Ah… well. Yes. Okay.”

“You don’t have to-- what?” Daisy’s head snapped up to meet Jon’s bemused expression.

“Okay.” She blinked a few times and Jon felt the silence press in on them. Stammering, he pressed on. “Y-yes well, while it might be against, ah, company policy for expressions of companionship and comfort, unless Helen decides to pop her head in I don’t see a reason why not.” There was a pause. Daisy slowly raised an eyebrow.

“Company policy?”

“Look I’m not exactly good at asking for comfort either--” He stopped as Daisy snorted. Then chuckled. Then laughed gently to herself. A smile crept across her face as she did so, and Jon felt his face flush and began stuttering some half-organised thoughts into words when he felt the smallest pang of joy from her. It was slight, but it was there. A sign that things could be better. Breathing deeply, face still flushed, he pushed himself up and out of his worn chair and moved around the desk in front of her. Daisy’s short laugh slowed to a chuckle as she looked up at him.

“You’re funnier than people think, you know.”

“Oh I’m sure people _love_ laughing at me”

“No, not _at_ you. I mean sure you can say some stupid things sometimes-”

“Please Daisy, I’m quite aware-”

“-But that’s part of your charm. You’re innocent.” Jon stopped for a moment before shaking his head, scoffing.

“I cannot _possibly_ be innocent.”

“No, the other way. You say things before you realise what you mean. You always have to ground your thoughts through something. They have to be relevant. And you don’t really mind if they sound… daft.” She shrugged the blanket back up around her shoulders. “You say what you mean and it’s… it’s endearing. In a way. Sometimes.” She looked away again. Jon leaned against the table, hands gently gripped to keep him steady. He smiled at the floor.

“Thank you, Daisy… That means a lot.” And it did. His smile in the doorway. His gentle laughter through the door. His arms around his waist when he was so scared, so frightened and desperate, and just needed one moment of… 

Jon pushed himself off the desk and held his arms out. Daisy stood up at his queue, the blanket still protecting her as she shuffled forward and placed her arms around him, one across his shoulder, the other around his chest. Jon laid his own arms around her and after a moment, closed his eyes.

Warmth. Warmth and intimacy. With eyes closed you can almost imagine it’s someone else. The grip’s slightly too tight, and the shape’s wrong, but you can still imagine it. Arms, first placed timidly, uncertain. Both holding your breath until someone sighs. The feeling of their arms tightening to pull you in. The bridge of your nose in their shoulder. Finding yourself squeezing back gently, reassuring, reminding them that you’re there. That you’re real. That together you’re both real and both here and alive, and that this moment is real and for you. For both of you. Your shoulder slowly heating up with their breath against you. The sudden awareness of your feet, so you shift positions slightly, and that just makes them grip tighter, and you’re almost afraid you’ll lose your balance until you remember you’re there. You’re safe. Letting whatever fears you have slip backwards for just a moment. A moment where nothing else matters.

And then it’s over. You feel them breathe deeply before gently lifting their head, but your shoulder’s still warm from where they lay. And then they pull away.

“Ma-- Daisy.” Jon furrowed his brow as he opened his eyes. She looked away forlornly, smile coloured with sadness. Like she’d been hoping to see someone else.

“Thanks, Jon.”

“...Thank you Daisy.” There was a pause. Jon looked back to the floor. Daisy tugged the blanket back around herself. “I’m gunna go make some coffee or--”

“Right, yes. Of course. Please.” 

He gestured towards the door, and a moment later he heard it open, then close. The wave of sadness that Jon tried not to feel dissipated with the closed door, leaving him alone. For a moment he waited, just in case he'd hear a gentle knock on his door, but when it never arrived he just sighed. He would be okay. He just had to trust him. He could feel moisture on his shoulder. He could feel moisture on his cheeks. Well, at the very least, they would match.

\---

_i. comfort._


End file.
